My own attempt at a ghazal. I hadn't researched it quite thoroughly enough, so I suspect this is actually rather stricter than it needs to be. The person who set the challenge to write a ghazal insisted that it include the theme of unrequited love, hence the title.

when I say unrequited I mean I love an empty wound

by the kitchen window a butterfly folds back into itself, a retreat
back into the hollow of the dry cocoon, a barren but easy retreat.

last summer a calf fed too long and hard at its mother’s teat,
and later we tracked the blood into the carpet in our hurried retreat.

in the mirror I examine the spreading curves of my newborn crow’s feet;
the creams and special soaps do nothing to aid their retreat.

there are orchids on the bureau: plastic flowers don’t smell so sweet,
but they are all that’s left after summer’s retreat.

for supper I clink the pots and pans: I have forgotten to buy meat.
he compares the table to my belly, hungry and bare. I sound the retreat.

on the patio there are sultry remains of the nights when we drink whisky neat,
and I roll it in my mouth, loathe to swallow it down and feel hope retreat

when I wake into the embrace of a tightly coiled early morning, I cheat
sleep and dig my hands into my womb, or rather the gash of a barren retreat.